


Phantoms

by ficbear



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Anal Sex, Blood Drinking, Bloodplay, Bondage, Cutting, Drunk Sex, Fight Sex, Fingerfucking, Humiliation, Knifeplay, M/M, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-27
Updated: 2012-11-27
Packaged: 2017-11-19 16:59:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/575545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficbear/pseuds/ficbear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Resting his hand on Jack's shoulder, Vamp brings his lips close to the younger man's ear.  "What will it be tonight? Another half-hearted brawl, or will Jack the Ripper play the whore?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Phantoms

He stares at the sign on the wall as he drinks, not reading the words, just letting his eyes trace over the lines of its lettering again and again, as the night slips by.  The sound of conversation is all around him, dull and fuzzy like static. Occasionally the voice of the bartender cuts through the fog of noise, but mostly the crowd around him blurs into one hazy mass, and he might as well be alone.

"It's been a while."

That familiar voice jolts him into something like alertness, and he jerks around to face it. "Vamp." A flat laugh bubbles up in his chest. "Leave me alone, I have enough dead men following me."

"And who else am I to haunt, if not you?" Vamp moves closer, close enough that Jack can feel the edge of a blade's sheath digging into his hip. The older man looks paler than ever in the dim light of the bar, and the shadows cast across his face make it seem colder, harder, like marble. He looks unreal, too sharp and vivid to really be there.

"What do you want?"

Vamp smiles. "I think the more interesting question is what _you_ want, Jack. The reason you come back here, night after night; the reason you drink so much it dulls your senses, only to pick fights with men you'd put down without trying if you were sober." He lowers his voice, and Jack has to strain to make it out against the noise of the crowd. "The reason you end most of these nights staggering out of a stranger's apartment, bruised and bleeding."

"Are you haunting me, or stalking me?" Jack laughs, and tries to keep his eyes fixed on the empty glass in front of him, but they keep slipping back up to the older man's face, to that dark, insistent gaze and that predatory smile. The bruises he picked up last time he came here throb faintly as his pulse begins to race. Even if it is all in his mind, even if the man standing over him really is just a vision of the past, he doesn't care anymore. All that matters is the tension knotted in the pit of his stomach, urging him on.

Vamp leans in closer, close enough that it's almost suffocating. The proximity alone seems to intoxicate Jack, and he can feel himself becoming more confused and disoriented with each passing second, as if he were getting drunker just sitting here.

Resting his hand on Jack's shoulder, Vamp brings his lips close to the younger man's ear.  "What will it be tonight? Another half-hearted brawl, or will Jack the Ripper play the whore?"

The touch lights a fuse in him so short as to be non-existent. He knocks the hand away and stands up, shoving his stool back so hard it screeches like a klaxon against the floorboards. "You're dead. I killed you. More than once."

"Once is never enough for you, though, is it?" Vamp says, his voice as quiet and steady as Jack's is loud and ragged.

All eyes are on them now, and at the corner of his vision he can see the bartender approaching. His fists are clenched, his body is seething with rage, and the bar could burn down around them for all he cares.

"Why don't you follow me, boy? Perhaps tonight you'll finally finish the job."

Jack watches him for a moment, stares at his back as he walks away, and somehow finds himself trailing along behind the older man. Weaving unsteadily through the crowd, he follows Vamp out into the night.

 

* * *

 

He doesn't remember how they got here. He remembers being shoved through the open doorway, stumbling against the wall, taking a swing at Vamp as soon as he came within arm's reach. He remembers being swatted around like a mouse in the claws of a cat, and he remembers thinking that Vamp must be holding back, taking it easy on him. But everything else, everything between the bar and this room, is blank.

He pushes himself up to his feet, and wipes the blood from his mouth. His movements are clumsy and slow, and he can barely dodge a single blow Vamp sends his way. Another strike hits him squarely across the face, and he staggers backwards until the wall rushes up to meet him and he finds himself sinking down slowly to the floor, crumpling and sagging like a falling ragdoll. His vision is too blurred now to make out much of the room around him, but he can clearly see Vamp standing over him, smiling down at him, toying with the knife in his hand as if he doesn't know where to start. Jack rolls out of the way and gets to his feet again, struggling to clear his mind and focus. How far gone must he be, now, if his mind is conjuring up not just memories of the past but full-blown hallucinations? If he's summoning up phantoms that can kick and slash and stab like this, just how much must he need the pain?

"Perhaps it's merely cathartic for you." Vamp blocks the next punch and catches his wrist, twisting his arm around to lever him up against the wall. "Or perhaps you really do want it all to end."

Jack finds himself suddenly free, and struggles to get back into a fighting stance. He sees the amusement in Vamp's eyes clearly, and it only spurs him on; lunging forward unsteadily, he strikes at the older man's throat, but the blow falls wide of the mark. As he tries to recover, Vamp's blade arcs up in the space between them, slicing through the fabric of Jack's shirt and into his flesh. He doesn't feel it, and for a moment he thinks the knife must have fallen short, but a dark patch of blood blooms and seeps through the fabric, warm and heavy, soaking into the shirt and plastering it to his skin.

Soft laughter fills the air, and Jack lifts his eyes just in time to see Vamp bring the bloodied knife to his lips. The older man's tongue trails unhurriedly along the flat of the blade, and Jack can't tear his eyes away from the sight. He should look away, he should force his gaze elsewhere and focus. Instead he stands there transfixed, watching every flicker of pleasure pass through those dark eyes, feeling every swipe of that tongue as if it were toying with his own flesh, as if it were lapping his blood fresh from the wound on his chest.

Now, _now_ he can feel the wound, throbbing in time with his heartbeat. He looks down at it and runs his fingers along the edge without thinking, captivated by the feeling of his blood daubed hot and sticky on his fingertips. He barely sees the next strike coming. A flash of light on the blade is his only warning, and then the sting of it slices into his thigh. The pain seems to wake him up a little, and he reels back, trying to dodge the next blow. He succeeds, but only just. Another blow catches him across the ribs, and his attempt to fight back only brings him into the path of the next strike. He's slower now, clumsier than ever, and growing angrier and angrier with every blow that catches him. These aren’t killing blows. They aren't even disabling blows, and the insult of it stings him bitterly.

"That's right, let me see that fury. Let it out." Vamp is behind him suddenly, and the blade runs along Jack's shoulder, opening up another mockingly shallow wound. "Back then, it would have been Rosemary who helped you through the anger, wouldn't it? And now look what you're reduced to... There's no going back for you now, is there?"

Hearing her name on Vamp's lips is too much, and he shoves the older man backwards, wheeling around with energy he didn't know he had. He spots the mirror on the wall behind them; without stopping to think, he slips behind Vamp and seizes hold of it, shatters the glass and grabs the largest shard. "Don't." He hisses, lunging forward to slash at Vamp's throat. "Don't you dare–"

The older man catches Jack's arm, but not before the edge of the shard has sliced into the side of his neck, painting the skin below his jawline with a thin trail of red. The wound seems to invigorate Vamp, and he twists the younger man's arm back viciously, driving a howl of pain from him. Holding onto the glass tighter still, Jack wrenches his arm out of Vamp's grip and rounds on him again, this time stabbing at the older man's chest. The shard sinks easily into his flesh, and Jack drags it out clumsily, knocked off-kilter somehow by the success of the blow. He staggers backwards, still clutching the blood-smeared shard of glass in his hand.

A low, deep groan hums in Vamp's throat. Jack can almost feel it in his own flesh. He watches, trying to keep his thoughts clear and failing, as the older man tears his bloodied shirt open and throws it off. Now Jack can see the wound clearly, the size and depth of it, the blood slowly seeping from it, the rivulets of thick, dark red running down across Vamp's bare skin. The arousal in the older man's eyes shines clearly, and Jack finds himself swallowing dryly as he watches Vamp finally unsheathe the knife holstered at his crotch. He should focus, keep his wits about him, but instead he's transfixed, held still somehow as he watches the light glinting on the flat of the blade.

Before he can react, Vamp surges forward and swings the knife down across Jack's face, laying a shallow cut along the length of his cheekbone. The pain stings like a slap and brings him back to his senses. He steps back just enough to dodge the next blow, but his luck doesn't hold; his parries become slower every minute, and his own attacks miss as often as they hit. Another strike catches his unwounded leg, slicing into his left thigh as deeply as the right. Both legs are weak and shot through with pain now, and he falters more and more with every move he makes.

As Jack weakens, Vamp seems to only grow stronger. His attacks are relentless and cruel, never quite wounding Jack enough to finish him, but pushing him right to the limit of his body's stamina. Jack watches his weakening body almost as if from a distance, as he accumulates wound after wound. His limbs are criss-crossed with thin welts, and his shirt hangs in ragged, bloody strips against his torso. Barely an inch of his skin is free from streaks of blood, his own or Vamp's, and the whole of his body is alight with pain. He can feel his pulse, fast and light, throbbing in every wound as more and more of his blood spills out under Vamp's touch.

Finally Vamp delivers a kick that knocks the wind from him and sends him stumbling back against the wall, panting and trembling. Exhaustion and pain is all he can feel now, as Vamp closes a hand around his throat. He's lost, and they both know it. There's no way out of this now. All that's left is for Vamp to end it.

"Do it." Jack says, staring up him, defiant even now on the edge of defeat. "What are you waiting for? Just kill me and get it over with."

"Kill you?" Vamp laughs, and brings the knife up to his lips.

Jack watches him lick the blade clean, and each flick of that mocking tongue sends a shudder of desire through the younger man's body. His limbs are shaking now, his head is spinning, his flesh aches with exhaustion and anger and need.

"Maybe one day, but not while I'm having so much fun." Vamp smiles, as if he can see straight through the younger man, and throws him to the ground.

Jack hits the floor hard, trying to break his fall but only succeeding in bruising his knees and hands. Vamp gives him no time to react; before he can get to his feet, his arms are wrenched behind him and bound tightly with something thin and cold and sharp that cuts into his skin. He's going nowhere even if he does escape his bonds, he knows that, but the urge to fight and flail is too strong to resist, and he struggles against them helplessly.

"Hold still." One cold hand grips Jack's shoulder, digging into his flesh with its nails, forcing him into position as the blade slips down beneath his waistband and slices through the fabric. Covered only by a few strips of bloodied clothing, he might as well be naked now. The air should be cold against his skin, but all he can feel is the hand holding him still and the fingers trailing down from the base of his spine to the cleft of his ass, slick and wet and insistent. He takes Vamp's fingers easily, and their touch feels too intense to be real, too vivid and electric, as if he hasn't been touched for weeks, let alone days. He shudders around them, pushing back instinctively each time they withdraw, fucking himself on Vamp's fingers as if he were alone with a toy. There's no shame left in him now, and his groans are as clear and loud as they are desperate.

The older man's fingers thrust into him one last time and then withdraw, leaving him empty and begging incoherently for more. A few moments pass, and he begins to think that perhaps this is it, perhaps this is all he'll be given, perhaps he'll wake up alone and frustrated any second now; then Vamp thrusts into him, vicious and hard and quick enough that Jack can barely breathe. He yelps in pain, but the sting and burn of it barely slows him down at all. Jack pushes back until every inch of that hard cock is buried in him, until he can feel the base of it stretching his ass wide open, until he can feel the whole of it filling him, until the older man finally begins to move inside him. His wounds ache and throb, and the pain mingles so deeply with the feeling of being fucked that Jack's whole body seems to be burning with sensation.

He rests his forehead against the floor, trying to let the ground beneath him take some of the force of Vamp's thrusts, but the older man yanks his head up roughly and keeps hold of his hair, twisting it tightly in his fist like a leash. The tip of Vamp's blade strokes along his back, then up to his shoulder blade, and as it begins to pierce his skin again he can barely keep still.

"How many times have I marked you like this?" The older man's voice is as steady and sharp as the knife cutting into him. "How many of these scars you wear belong to me?"

Too many to count. Jack closes his eyes, giving himself up to the pain, surrendering entirely. Cold metal taps against his lips, and he parts them without hesitation, barely flinching at the taste of his own blood. His tongue slides along the blade, as eagerly as if he were lapping at warm flesh rather than bloodied metal.

"Good boy," Vamp says, laughing softly.

The mixture of approval and contempt in the older man's voice infuriates Jack, and a surge of pride wells up in him, overwhelming his lust with the need to rebel. He struggles against Vamp's grip, squirming and thrashing beneath him, clenching his bound fists as if sheer anger should allow him to break free.

"That's right…" Vamp's voice is rough with pleasure as he throws down the knife. It lands beside Jack's head, jammed into the floorboard inches away from his cheek, passing close enough to make the younger man jump. Even that brief moment of fright seems to please Vamp. His pace shifts, and he begins to fuck Jack in maddeningly long, slow strokes, holding still each time he thrusts in to the hilt, making the younger man wait for what seems like an age before he moves again. Over and over, Vamp draws back almost entirely and pauses just long enough for Jack's body to start to adjust to the emptiness again; over and over he thrusts in, forcing the younger man's ass to spread as he feeds it inch after inch of his cock, until Jack is incoherent with lust and frustration.

"You say you're incapable of feeling anything, but you're certainly feeling it now, aren't you?" Vamp's voice is rich with amusement as Jack squirms beneath him. "That's right, let yourself go, boy…"

Those cold hands grip Jack's buttocks, squeezing and spreading them as if he were just a toy, just an object to be played with and used. One hand reaches beneath him and takes hold of his own cock, squeezing it roughly enough to make his breath catch in his throat, then withdraws again. He wants to rail and curse and beg to be touched, but the words just won't come. All he can do is moan and struggle. He can feel himself fading away a little more with each passing moment; everything is so distant and hazy now, everything but the feeling of Vamp's body against his, and more than ever it seems like just a dream now. Fantasy or not, he wants every second of it, and yet he can feel himself weakening, his vision darkening, his body slowly surrendering.

Vamp leans over him, and the wound on his back is suddenly on fire with pain again. Jack can feel the older man's mouth against his skin, that insistent tongue working over the length of the wound, and he hisses in pain. A deep growl of pleasure echoes through the older man's body, and Jack braces himself as Vamp begins to fuck him faster now, slamming into him deep and hard as he begins to come. Tensing, clenching his fists, trying helplessly to withstand the onslaught, the last thing Jack feels is the sting of teeth against his flesh.

 

* * *

 

Light dazzles him as soon as his eyes open, and he keeps them half-closed as he collects his discarded clothes. It's only as he's leaving that he allows himself to look back, to check for anything that might dispel his doubts; there's nothing left, though, but broken glass.


End file.
